‘I’ve been told that at the village festa he specifically accused you of homosexual tendencies, and of a liaison with someone called Andrea. Forgive me prying into your personal life, but is that true or not?’
To Zen’s surprise, Manlio Vincenzo laughed.
‘It’s certainly true that I’m involved romantically with someone called Andrea,’ he said in a tone laden with irony. ‘But the real reason my father made such a fuss about my supposed homosexuality was that it jeopardized his long-term plans for acquiring the Faigano estate.’
‘Gianni and Maurizio Faigano?’
Manlio rose, filled the caffettiera with grounds and water, screwed it together and set it on the stove.
‘They’re neighbours of ours. There’s only one daughter — a very late child — and no other heirs, so when the brothers die, she’ll inherit the entire property. It’s quite extensive, with some very good fields bordering ours, which produce excellent wine.’
‘So your father wanted you to marry Lisa Faigano.’
Manlio Vincenzo laughed.
‘The idea’s absurd! I’ve only met the child a few times. She’s seventeen and I’m almost thirty. My own inclinations aside, there’s no possible reason to suppose that she would have any interest in marrying me. In any case, her father would never agree. Maurizio and his brother are no friends of ours. In fact, we’re barely on speaking terms.’
‘Why’s that?’ Zen asked.
Manlio shrugged.
‘It’s just one of those things which are so common around here. You run up against them every so often, and soon learn not to ask questions. No one wants to talk about it, no one will explain. It’s just a given, like the lie of the land.’
‘Did you point this out to your father?’
‘Of course.’
‘What did he say?’
Manlio Vincenzo did not answer right away. He came back to the table and took another careful taste of wine.
‘He said, “Just get her pregnant, I’ll do the rest.”’
There was a silence.
‘I told him that times had changed, that things don’t work like that any more. “Leave that to me,” he said. “Just get her in the family way, that’s all I’m asking.” That was when I made the mistake of mentioning that I was already involved with someone else.’
The coffee came burbling up the spout and spluttered loudly. Manlio removed the pot and poured out two cups.
‘What did your father say to that?’ asked Zen.
‘He said he didn’t give a damn where I chose to stick it for pleasure. This was business, and my duty to the family was to marry Lisa Faigano, by force if necessary.’
He broke off, his head cocked to one side like a dog on the scent. Then Zen, too, heard the sound of a car engine, very faintly at first, but rapidly confirming its nearing presence.
‘Now what?’ demanded Manlio.
The car — a diesel, by the sound of it — pulled up in the courtyard. Manlio had got to his feet and was heading towards the door when it was flung open by a young woman in her mid-twenties wearing a long beige coat over a pullover and jeans. She shrieked something in English, and rushed to embrace Manlio Vincenzo, who reciprocated fervently.
‘Have you got any money?’ the woman asked, switching to Italian. ‘I forgot to change any at the airport and I have to pay the taxi. It’s so wonderful to see you, and you’re looking so well! I think you’ve lost a bit of weight, in fact. It suits you.’
Manlio Vincenzo turned to his guest in some embarrassment.
‘Do forgive us, dottore!’ he said. ‘I phoned last night when my lawyer told me the good news, but I had no idea…’
Zen stood up and bowed politely.
‘ Molto lieto, signorina. ’
The formal phrase recalled Manlio Vincenzo to the proprieties.
‘But of course you don’t know each other! This is Vice-Questore Aurelio Zen, my dear. Dottor Zen, allow me to introduce my fiancee, Andrea Rodriguez.’
‘Oh, not so bad,’ Minot replied to the brothers’ rhetorical enquiry as to how it was going. ‘Only too many cops, to tell you the truth. I gave one a lift this morning. You remember that character who showed up at the bar, pretending to be a reporter from Naples? He’s trying to pass himself off as a wine dealer now. And no sooner had I got home, than Pascal dropped by.’
Gianni Faigano nodded.
‘Thanks for the tip-off. I was able to lead the nosy bastard a merry dance and get a free feed into the bargain.’
‘I just wish they’d get the whole thing cleared up, one way or another,’ Maurizio said dourly. ‘All these cops hanging around makes things like this even more risky.’
He gestured towards the demijohns of wine in the shed beside which Minot had parked his truck. He was to take them to the cantina run by Bruno Scorrone, who would subsequently work a miracle of the loaves-and-fishes variety on the contents and split the profits with the Faigano brothers. Minot got paid a flat-rate transportation fee.
‘Speaking of which,’ Minot remarked lightly, ‘I need to ask you both a favour.’
The brothers exchanged a glance.
‘What sort of favour?’ asked Gianni.
‘Let’s load the wine, then we’ll talk.’
The job took the best part of twenty minutes. Lifting the hundred litre damigiane on to the bed of the truck was hard enough, but the really tricky part was ensuring that they were set down carefully enough to avoid breakage. In the old days, the glass was covered with a layer of wicker or rope, but now there was just a sheath of coloured plastic matting with little or no give.
Once the truck was safely loaded, the three men went inside for a glass of the product and a smoke.
‘So, two policemen in one day, eh?’ Maurizio remarked once they were seated. ‘What are things coming to?’
This was just an opening gambit in the match they were about to play, of no importance in itself. Someone had to move first. It was what happened afterwards that would determine the result.
‘That’s right,’ said Minot. ‘When I was driving home after a night in the woods, I saw someone walking up from the station towards the village. I naturally stopped and offered him a ride, only to find that it was our friend the spy. I don’t think he recognized me, but I knew him all right, with those stitches in his forehead.’
A silence fell.
‘Terrible business about Beppe,’ remarked Gianni Faigano.
‘Terrible,’ echoed Minot.